Mayhem's Desire: Operation Mayhem

by Lindsay Cross

  Reaper, Hicks’s team leader, had rescued his now-fiancée, Caroline, and Dr. Averton from the lab that had changed them. He’d also destroyed all of the general’s research and stolen his supply of serum, ensuring he’d have a difficult time creating more super soldiers.

  “I’ll sleep when I crack the code.” She swiped at her smooth forehead with her free hand, pushing her dark, thick, brown hair out of the way. She was an attractive woman by anyone’s standards. And yet he’d always felt brotherly toward her. He wasn’t sure why.

  “You’re not like the rest of us. If you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be able to help the team.”

  In answer, she stuck her needle back into the IV and drew out another ball of blood from his arm. “And you and your team can’t have a real life until I figure out how to fix what Gen. Rainier and Dr. Winters did to you. If I could get my hands around her neck right now…”

  “Seeing as how she’s already dead, that might be a tad bit hard to pull off,” Hicks said, his lips tipping into a smile.

  She removed the tourniquet from his arm, grabbed a cotton ball from her examination table and held it over the spot where the IV needle punctured his skin. He watched as she withdrew the needle—barely a sting—yanked open a new box of Band-Aids and slapped a neon pink bandage on his arm.

  Hicks arched a brow, “You do realize my entire team is made up of men, right?”

  She at least had the grace to blush. “The drugstore was completely out of regular Band-Aids. It was either this or Cinderella.”

  “Then I’d say you made the better choice.” What the hell was she doing running out to the drugstore anyway? She was the head researcher in this brand-new shiny lab provided by Tom Cotter’s money. In some ways, the senator was getting the last laugh. Gen. Rainier had killed him, yes, but Cotter had left his entire fortune to his daughters, Caroline and Nightshade, and the women had used their newly acquired wealth to buy this mansion, which had become the men’s new compound, and outfit the lab inside of it. “Can’t you hire an assistant or something to do that kind of stuff for you?”

  Melissa carefully eased the vials of blood into a tiny tray filled with small vials. “I don’t know anyone I can trust with this. Gen. Rainier has his fingers in everyone’s pockets. The government. Private contractors. Foreign entities. I don’t think it’s safe to tell anyone what we’re doing here.”

  Hicks raked his hand through his equally dark brown hair, which he’d let grow long in the past couple of months. It now hung almost to his ears. “We’ll find someone.”

  “Hicks, I—” Dr. Averton’s words were cut off by a loud ring. She shoved her hand into the deep pocket of her white lab coat and pulled out her cell phone, frowning when she looked at the screen. “Whitney?”

  Hicks slid off the bench and tugged on his T-shirt, pretending to give her some privacy while he secretly listened in on the conversation. He couldn’t really help it. His hearing was another thing that had been amped up by the change, and he could hear a woman’s frantic voice on the other end of the line. “Melissa, I didn’t know who else to call. Something’s very wrong. My car is gone and someone broke into my apartment. They might still be there.”

  “Slow down,” Melissa said in a matter-of-fact voice, “you’re not making any sense.”

  “Someone’s in my apartment!”

  She’d shouted the words loud enough that Hicks could have heard them without his enhanced hearing.

  “Where are you?”

  I’m in the bathroom in the lobby of my building.”

  Unable to keep quiet anymore, Hicks gently touched Melissa’s arm. “Who is that?”

  She held the phone away from her mouth and said, “my sister.”

  “Where does she live?” He and the other guys were practically imprisoned in their new home while Dr. Averton tried to figure out how to fix them. They decided to stay close to headquarters, but Hicks was sick and tired of staying put. He ached to do something, help someone.

  “I—I’m not sure.” Melissa placed the phone back to her mouth and said, “Give me your address.”

  “I live at the Q, 22 South Main.”

  That was less than an hour away. Hicks was confident he could shorten the drive by a good fifteen to twenty minutes. He grabbed his holstered Beretta off the counter, where he’d placed it when he entered the lab and clipped it on to his belt. “Text me her number and tell her I’m on the way.”

  “But Hicks, you shouldn’t leave—”

  “I owe you. Plus, you can’t concentrate on your research if you’re worried about your family. I’ll take care of this for you. Trust me.”

  Melissa hesitated for a second and then heaved a short sigh. “Take your dose of serum before you leave. Just in case.”

  “I’m on it, boss.”

  Hicks raced down the stretch of highway from their country estate into D.C. proper in the shiny new Dodge Viper provided by the doctor. He could’ve taken their standard issue Humvee or one of the new Jeeps parked in the huge garage, but whatever he ate, drank, and shit was Army issue, so driving a sweet piece of machinery like the 450 hp Dodge Viper was a freaking high-class dessert he was going to savor.

  The fact that he was doing something to help Dr. Averton was the whipped cream and cherry topping.

  She was working so hard to save them, and although Hicks had done everything he could to support her, he didn’t know diddly shit about formulas and serums in DNA. Give him a high-powered M50 with a digital scope and he could play it like a fiddle, but bullets didn’t help out in a lab. Most of the time he felt like a blundering bear around all that dainty research equipment. He knew the other guys felt the same way.

  This was his first real opportunity to get out from the mansion turned prison and stretch his legs. Legs that required constant exercise. Ever since he’d taken his first dose of the experimental serum for Project Mayhem, he’d been restless.

  He and the rest of the team had been caged like animals while the project scientists poked and prodded them and changed who they were. The moment they’d started protesting their inhumane treatment, they’d been locked up in glass cages.

  And although they’d escaped and set up their own place, they still couldn’t leave…and not just to avoid Gen. Rainier’s spies, who were undoubtedly everywhere. There was a terrifying chance that they might lose control again.

  One night in the secret government lab, he and the men had lost control—no, somehow, they’d been controlled—and he still didn’t know why or how. All he knew was that General Rainier and his lackeys had turned them into monsters as some sort of demonstration. The team had murdered innocents in a bloodthirsty rampage, only to snap out of the haze and stare around them in horror.

  Whatever Gen. Rainier and the others had done to their DNA was beyond Hicks’s knowledge, but it terrified him to his very core. He terrified himself. He’d joined the service to save lives—not take them—and even though his actions had been out of his control that night, he’d still been the one to deliver the death blows to innocents.

  He missed a good night’s sleep like he missed chocolate cake, but a big part of him was glad he couldn’t sleep. His dreams were full of the lifeless eyes and open-mouthed, silent screams of the technicians he and his men had murdered.

  Fuck. He had to quit thinking about this shit before he contemplated suicide.

  Hicks ripped his phone out and dialed his team leader, Reaper, to fill him in on the mission. Reaper answered, but Hicks could hear the distraction in his voice. “What?”

  “Someone pulled a B&E at Dr. Averton’s sister’s apartment. I’m on the way to do a carryout. I should be back in a couple of hours.”

  There was a long pause. “You left the compound?”

  Hicks squeezed the phone in his palm, fighting off the wave of irritation. He’d known Reaper would be pissed. “Had to. Doc’s sister is in trouble.”

  A loud groan sounded in the background on Reapers end of the line. “Fine, but w
e’re talking about this when you get back. Leaving the compound while Rainier’s out there is reckless. You’ve risked the team.”

  “We owe Dr. Averton our lives, the least I could do is give her sister a ride.” But dammit that wasn’t the only reason he’d left. He was going crazy being kept caged inside, even if his cage was a mansion.

  “We’ll talk later. Caroline’s gotten some kind of virus. Check in with me when you get back.” Reaper disconnected the call.

  Hicks tossed his phone into the passenger seat, his excitement dulling.

  Leaving the confines of their new headquarters might be a risk. They still didn’t know what had triggered them that night, whether it was a word or a sign or even a smell, but he had the soul of a soldier, and he wasn’t happy unless he had a fight.

  When he’d overheard Melissa’s conversation with her sister, it had felt like a gift-wrapped package delivered straight into his hands. Maybe he could use this small excursion to test his control.

  Besides, Dr. Averton was the only one who could fix them. He’d put all his faith in her; he didn’t have a choice. And if her family needed his help, by God, he’d lay his life on the line for any of them.

  Hicks rolled his closed fist over the steering wheel and punched the gas, pushing the Prowler to its limits. The engine roared and thrummed to life underneath him, the rush of fuel propelling the car across the empty, dark road, just like the adrenaline in his veins kept him going. He needed this. He needed to get the hell out of his head and the hell out of that mansion and do some good.

  And Whitney Averton was his ticket.

  6

  Whitney huddled in the women’s bathroom in the lobby of her apartment building, praying the locked door of the bathroom stall she’d wedged herself into would hold against an intruder. She was so shaken she almost slid to the floor and sat down, until she realized how gross that would be. Instead, she stood huddled in the corner of the stall, her back against the wall, clutching her phone and trembling like a terrified fool.

  Oh, God. What was going on? Was someone out to get her?

  Whoever had broken into her apartment might be trying to kill her… Was the vandal somehow tied to her car? Maybe he’d stolen her car, found her identity, and tracked her back to her apartment.

  Her feet hurt, but she would wait until every toe went numb before taking her heels off in this bacteria-infested place.

  The door outside creaked open and she cringed against the wall. She didn’t know who her sister was sending, but Melissa had sounded confident in the man’s abilities. Whitney caught traces of a deep, steady voice in the background of their call, but that was it. Hardly enough to gauge the man’s character, but surely her sister wouldn’t send one of her lab assistants to fend off an attacker. She listened for the light click of a woman’s heels on tiled floor, but all she heard was silence.

  “Whitney.”

  Her stomach rocketed up into her throat. That was most definitely not a woman’s voice. Was it the person who’d broken into her apartment?

  All she had was a clutch on her person and her cell phone. How could she defend herself? If only she had a knife. Hell, anything sharp and pointed would do.

  Her shoes.

  Whitney sucked in a breath and slowly inched her hand down toward her ankle, fumbling with numb fingers for the golden clasp on her stiletto. She eased one foot out and clutched the toe of her shoe, lifting it high over her head as she balanced on one tottering foot.

  Whatever this asshole wanted from her, he had another thing coming if he thought she was going to let him take it. She could Lara Croft Tomb Raider his ass straight into the next world, armed with nothing but the six-inch spike heel on her Manolo Blahnik.

  The man’s feet appeared in the opening in front of her stall door and she squared off, preparing to confront him. She could sense his physical power through the measly metal frame. Her bravado faltered as a violent tremor worked through her body. She’d never fought anyone or anything—what was she supposed to do?

  She hadn’t watched enough action movies or taken any self-defense courses to know how to fend off an attacker.

  Think, think.

  The door handle jiggled and there was a long sigh on the other side, followed by the man’s deep, silky smooth voice, “Whitney, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

  Did he know her name? He must’ve broken into her glove box! She bit her lip hard enough to taste the blood on her teeth.

  She pulled her shoe back further until the heel bumped into the wall behind her. He could kick open that door and come in guns blazing, but he’d get a spike in his head first.

  “Whitney, I can hear you breathing. Your sister sent me over. I was in the room with her when you called.”

  It would be easy for anyone equipped with Google to find out she had a sister. “What’s my sister’s name?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  “Dr. Melissa Averton. She’s got long, thick, brown hair. Black glasses. And she also doesn’t know when it’s time to stop working and take a break from the lab.”

  Whitney’s chest clenched and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the sudden rush of tears springing to her eyes. Anyone could find out what her sister looked like, but not everyone knew about her tendency to be a workaholic.

  “Whitney, unlock the door. I’m here to help you,” his smooth voice urged her to calm down, but fear still had its grip on her system and Whitney kept the shoe raised high just in case. She eased forward one step, flipped the latch and quickly stepped back, ready to spring forward if necessary.

  The door creaked open of its own accord and Whitney stood frozen to the spot, staring up at a muscle-stacked man with wavy, chocolate-brown hair and a jaw chiseled from granite. Her sister didn’t know men who looked like this. There was no way Melissa had sent him. She clenched her shoe tighter and sucked in a breath, ready for his attack.

  His deep blue gaze raked her from head to toe, but he didn’t move an inch. He didn’t do anything other than stand there in silence.

  They were stuck in a standoff of sorts and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be the first one to make a move.

  Dear God, she’d never seen muscles like that, not in real life, only the kind that were airbrushed on skinny male models in Cosmopolitan magazine.

  “Whitney, I’m not sure what you think you’re going to do with that shoe, but I promise you it wouldn’t stop anyone who wanted to attack you. As I said, though, I am not here to hurt you. Your sister sent me to help you. She’s working with me and my team for the… for the government.” She heard hesitation in his voice; he was lying.

  “Tell me something else about my sister, something that proves you actually know her.”

  “She fidgets with her glasses when she’s nervous and she works until she’s ready to drop dead. And she also has no problem with putting pink Band-Aids on soldiers.” He nodded toward the crook of his elbow, where there was evidence of that last statement.

  Whitney’s resolve wavered. That did sound an awful lot like her sister. She could so easily see Melissa slapping a pink Band-Aid on this man and the image brought a smile to her lips. “She really did send you, didn’t she?” She said breathlessly, relief robbing her of her strength.

  “My name is Hicks. And I really don’t want another Averton to stab me tonight, seeing as how your sister has been busy drawing my blood since noon.” He eased forward, heat radiating off his body in blazing waves. He reached over her head and gently took her hand in his, unwrapping her fingers from around her shoe.

  She was surprised she could feel his touch at all since her hand had gone numb several minutes ago. And then he knelt at her feet and looked up at her expectantly. Whitney swallowed the huge lump in her throat, slid her foot into the shoe and stood there trembling as he buckled the strap around her ankle. His big hands made her ankle look so dainty. She could feel every minuscule inch of his warm, callused hand on her leg, and his touch sent heat racing up her thigh. Her trembling
turned to something that had nothing to do with fear and she gasped out loud, unprepared for the sensation.

  Dark intensity pooled in his eyes.

  He’d felt it too.

  Hicks rose to a standing position. He was so tall she was forced to tilt her head back to see his face. His raw masculine perfection stole the air from her lungs.

  “I’m Whitney,” she said in the silence, immediately regretting the stupid words. Of course, he knew who she was—Melissa had sent him to rescue her.

  He probably thought she was a complete idiot.

  His deep, velvet voice eased her frayed nerves like aloe vera on sunburn and it was all she could do not to melt on the spot.

  “It’s a beautiful name.”

  Her libido jumped up and started shaking its booty.

  “Hicks is a nice name too.” She licked her lips at a loss as to what to say or how to act. It was a position she had never found herself in before, not even as a teenager. She’d always been confident around men; sure, her hourglass figure would knock their socks off. But something about Hicks had rendered her powerless, as if naked. Not physically, but on the inside, like he could peer right into her soul.

  Why couldn’t he stop staring at her?

  He didn’t know what he’d expected. Certainly not this siren wrapped in a body-hugging dress, stealing his breath. Sapphire blue eyes. Long, silky, mahogany hair. He’d always liked women with curves, and sweet Jesus, Whitney had those in abundance. He clenched his hands into a tight fist, resisting the temptation to skim his fingers down her arm. Odds were her skin was as soft as it looked.

  If he didn’t get himself under control soon, he’d end up backing her against the wall and claiming her lips with a fierce kiss. As if on autopilot, he took two steps forward without consciously realizing what he was doing. His lips were hovering inches above hers, his breath sawing in and out of his chest in harsh waves.

  Whitney licked her lush lips and he clenched his jaw to stifle a groan. Damn, it was taking every ounce of willpower to restrain himself.